Love Heals All Wounds
by StoryWeaver56
Summary: When an accident in Engineering leaves B'Elanna horribly wounded, can Tom Paris-as newly appointed doctor's assistant-find the strength to do what he needs to do to save her life? Set within Season 4.
1. Flying Voyager

_**Chapter 1: Flying **_**Voyager**

Tom Paris sat at his post on the bridge, laughing. He was pretty sure Harry Kim had just said something _hilarious _a moment ago.

"Forget how to read your console, Ensign?" Tom teased from across the bridge, shaking his head and chuckling. He glanced at the helm readings on his own console and made a slight manual course correction.

Paris enjoyed his time on the bridge flying the _USS Voyager_. He relished the thought of being the one who told the ship to keep on plugging along to the Alpha Quadrant. He'd gotten so used to flying _Voyager_ that he often corrected slight disturbances along the course before the automated systems could. Sometimes he liked to test himself and see how many he could nab before the computer got to them.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, did you say something?" Kim said in return, a grin on his face as he studied his Ops console.

"I did," Paris replied. "I'm sorry if you can't hear me, _Ensign_, I'm too busy flying the ship." When Tom talked, he mostly didn't know what he was going to say until after he said it. To some people, this angered them. For example, his girlfriend, B'Elanna Torres. While most of the time she laughed at his words, there were those times when B'Elanna's testy Klingon side would give him a good dressing down. Others, like Harry, just laughed and attempted to get back at him. It never worked, of course.

"Well, well, _Lieutenant_, I'm not always sure when you're talking to me or the viewscreen. Of course, if you would learn some physics, you would understand how sound waves work."

Paris swiveled his chair around to look at his friend, a smile in his eyes and a comeback ready to do its damage. "Harry, you can take your physics and—"

"I do not see how this discourse is productive to our mission," Tuvok interrupted. He was looking up from his station at Security, a not-so-amused look on his angular face. Paris swiveled over to glance at the staid Vulcan. _All he needs is some horns and a pitchfork to complement those ears and that attitude, _Paris thought wryly. Tuvok needed to loosen up.

Paris almost let a retort slip through his teeth, but a bit of self-control made him swallow his words. Ok, so maybe the self-control wasn't all there was to it—maybe the glint of Tuvok's three full pips on his collar to Paris' meager two pips made him hesitate.

But, as he turned back to his console, Paris couldn't help but mutter, "It wouldn't kill you to laugh for once, Tuvok."

Right as he said it, he knew he'd regret it. Paris flinched as Tuvok's superior Vulcan hearing picked up the words.

"Laughter is an emotion and is therefore unproductive."

To Paris, Tuvok was just egging him on. Oh, why was holding his tongue such a challenge for Tom Paris?

"I'm sure there's a scientific paper somewhere in our databanks about the positive effects of laughter with your name on it, Tuvok."

"Curious. I would not write an article pertaining to the science of something that has no science."

Tom didn't even bother to mention he hadn't meant the paper was _written _by Tuvok. He was too busy voicing his retort. "Ask the Doctor, Tuvok. He would say something completely different."

"Gentlemen!" Chakotay broke in, stopping the further comments before it got too out of hand. For a moment he wondered if anyone had seen the irony with this debate. "Focus."

Chakotay didn't mind when the bridge personnel chatted. He thought this action healthy to the long and sometimes grueling hours the crew shared in the Delta Quadrant. He knew Captain Janeway felt the same. But, unfortunately, Commander Tuvok did not share these thoughts, which caused some friction amongst the bridge, especially with the impulsive and blatant Tom Paris.

Right as Tom turned back to face the viewscreen, Tuvok to his console, and an engaged bridge crew back to their work, the doors to the Captain's ready room swished open and Captain Kathryn Janeway walked onto the bridge, her new short hairstyle slimming her profile and giving her a more inviting look.

Chakotay nodded at Janeway and stood up, vacating the captain's chair and taking his usual place to her left.

"What's with all the commotion in here?" Janeway asked lightly as she claimed her rightful spot, crossing her slender legs.

"Oh, nothing, Captain. Just engaging in friendly conversation about the stellar phenomena we pass," Chakotay answered, a smile in his brown eyes. Even though he had been the captain aboard the Maquis raider _Val Jean_, when faced with the unusual situation and Janeway's persistent and determined personality, he had found it hardly difficult to give up command to her.

"I never considered you to be the lying type, Chakotay," Janeway said, grinning at him and relaxing under his calm gaze and the familiar curves and lines of the tribal tattoo adorning his face.

He grinned back. "A first officer lies only when he wants to spare his captain the misery of the truth."

Tom Paris had been only half listening to all this. Mostly, his thoughts were on his little debate with Tuvok. _Does everything on this ship have to be so serious? We're stuck 70,000 light-years away from home; we _have _to allow ourselves to laugh sometime. _

Janeway interrupted his thoughts. "Mr. Paris, course correction. The new coordinates and information are being directed to your console," she said as her fingers glided over the small console on her armrest.

"Aye, Captain," Paris replied, coming out of his reverie and applying the coordinates. The new information required an increase in speed, and excitement at the prospect filled Paris. He _was _a bit of a speed-demon, he admitted, and adding some velocity to the voyage gave him a thrill.

"Oh, Tom," Janeway said, as if in afterthought. "The Doctor said since you didn't show up in sickbay yesterday, he wants you to come down and help out today."

Paris sighed. While he knew he was considered the most qualified person on the ship to take the job, that didn't give him permission to be excited about it. "Alright," he said. The captain's comment had burst his bubble. Now, when he increased the ship's speed for some reason it didn't give him much of a thrill this time.

"Now," Janeway commanded when she didn't see Tom Paris' form jump up and move to the turbolift at the idea of assisting the Doctor in sickbay.

"Yes, ma'am," Paris said, getting up from his seat at the conn. As he walked over to the turbolift, he heard Harry say, "See you later, _Nurse _Paris."

Tom gave a chuckling Harry Kim a dirty look as he strode into the turbolift.


	2. Arias and Petri Dishes

_**Chapter 2: Arias and Petri Dishes**_

"Doctor, this is _no _reason to pull me out of Engineering right now!"

At the sound of his girlfriend's angry tone, Paris almost wished he hadn't walked into sickbay, but instead had waited outside the door. He knew there was no way for him to have heard her before the doors swished open, sending him slamming into a wave of Klingon fury.

"No reason? Of course it's a reason!" The Doctor replied, aghast. "I know: I'm just a hologram—I have no true feelings! I've heard it _all _before!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's going on in here?" Paris said, hoping his entry would help break up the argument.

"Tom, tell this…_hologram_…his vocal performance program is _not _a priority!" B'Elanna crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Paris like he had something to do with this mess.

"It has been malfunctioning for nearly two days! No one will fix it! How am I supposed to go about my day?" The Doctor looked pained as he mentioned his affliction. "I don't tell people to go away when they have laryngeal inflammation!"

B'Elanna took a deep breath as if trying to calm down and keep herself from storming over to the console and deleting his holographic life for good. "Tom," B'Elanna said, slowly. "Tell him he can live without singing opera for a little longer." She looked up at him and Paris could see the annoyance written all over her beautiful hybrid face.

Despite her beauty, he couldn't let this continue. "Why do I have to be the translator?" he asked, and gave her a questioning look.

"Because if I talk to _him_," B'Elanna nudged her head in the Doctor's direction, "I'll say things I shouldn't." She smiled a grim and completely sarcastic smile. "You know what, I have work to do. I'll fix your program when I have time, Doctor." She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.

"Yeah…B'Elanna's not in a good mood today…" Paris said, a bit uncomfortably. He loved that his girlfriend had such spice to her character even though he thought she went a little overboard with it sometimes. He would talk to her about it later.

"Does she have to be so…_infuriating?_" the Doctor asked, his program making him appear slightly shaken as well as thoroughly annoyed.

"'Infuriat_ed_' is more the word. She has a short fuse."

The Doctor suddenly seemed to look at Paris for the first time since he walked in. "Mr. Paris, where were you yesterday?"

Tom Paris sighed, acting nonchalant. "Busy as always, Doc," he answered, vaguely. He leaned against the main sickbay console casually, an expression of detachment on his face.

"You have an obligation to this sickbay, Lieutenant, and I expect you to fulfill it." The Doctor moved to a cart on which he had placed his PADD. He picked up the PADD and scanned its contents.

"Aw, Doc, come on, it was just one day!" Paris responded entreatingly. "I said I was busy! I can't help I'm in demand!"

"Next time, Mr. Paris, try to make some time for sickbay. Without Kes here anymore, things have been piling up." As if on cue, a stack of medical tricorders on the cart slid to the side, almost falling to the floor. Paris grabbed the one closest to the edge, keeping it from falling. Almost absentmindedly, he opened it up and scanned the space in front of him.

"I'm not much use here, anyway. I hardly know the difference between a cortical stimulator and tricordrazine," Paris stated, trying to make a point.

The Doctor turned and said, simply, "There is no difference."

Tom Paris stared off into the distance for a moment. "Oh."

The Doctor walked up to Paris and patted him on the back encouragingly. "Don't worry, Mr. Paris. With time you'll know all the necessary information. Kes did."

"Yeah, Doc, but Kes was an Ocampa—her short lifespan required her to learn quickly! You can't compare me to someone whose brain is wired completely differently than mine!"

"Well, then," the Doctor said, a pleased expression on his face. "It seems you're already learning!"

Paris sighed. "What ya need me for?" he asked the Doctor, squinting at the small figures darting across the tricorder screen. Then, he closed it and started to place it back on the pushcart.

The Doctor held out a hand. "Keep that. You'll need it."

"Ok…" Tom said, hoping his job wouldn't be too dull. He hated tedium.

The Doctor handed Paris six petri dishes. "I've given the bacteria in these petri dishes an antibiotic. I need you to scan these bacteria for any signs of resistance—for example, genetic mutations or adaptations. They should be in their final stages of life by now, but, if not, we have to start over."

"Oh, great," Tom said, enthusiasm not so evident in his tone. He strode over to the console in the middle of the room and placed the petri dishes on it, then proceeded to scan them. This would be tedious.

Before Tom could feel the full effects of the mind-numbingly dull activity of scanning bacteria, he heard a strange sound coming from the Doctor's office.

"Doc, you ok?" he asked, setting down the tricorder.

He got an irritated response. "Do I sound ok? I am completely unable to practice Luciano Pavarotti's 'E lucivan le stelle'!"

"Thank God," Paris muttered under his breath.

But, despite the fact that his program was obviously not responding, the Doctor tried again, hoping for a better result. Some strangled noises came from him, then nothing.

"Bravo!" Paris cheered, unable to resist a bit of teasing.

The Doctor glared at him through the clear wall surrounding his office. "This might amuse you, but it does _not _amuse me."

"What's up with everyone lately?" Paris asked while scanning another dish. "Everyone's on edge. Maybe we need some R and R. Some shore leave on an exotic Delta Quadrant planet, maybe..." A faraway look came into Paris' eyes.

"I _could _use some time on the holodeck…" muttered the Doctor. Then, snapping Tom out of his reverie, he asked, "Did you finish scanning the bacteria?"

Paris looked down at his tricorder. "Yep. No resistance."

"Excellent," the Doctor replied, looking pleased with himself. "I'll proceed with the second part of the experiment."

Right then, Red Alert sounded throughout the ship, startling Paris. He looked around the room in confusion as if the answer lay within his field of vision.

"Janeway to sickbay." A moment later the captain's voice reverberated through the room.

"Yes?" the Doctor asked, expectantly.

"There's been an accident in Engineering—prepare for casualties. Janeway out."

The Doctor and Paris looked at each other for a moment, the surprise written on their faces deepening the worried lines on their brows, both flesh and hologram.

But, before they began preparing sickbay, the doors slid open, revealing the bloodied body of B'Elanna Torres draped lifelessly over the arms of Vorik, his own skin stained green.


	3. The Accident

_**Chapter 3: The Accident**_

Tom Paris rushed over to B'Elanna, a sinking feeling entering his gut.

"B'Elanna!" he shouted, shocked. He followed Vorik to the primary biobed as the Vulcan gently set her down.

The Doctor took one look at Torres' wounds and said, hurriedly, "Mr. Paris, tricorder!" He held out his hand expectantly.

Paris tried to shake himself out of his state of shock and find the device. Fumbling around, he was finally able to force his shaking hand to grip one of the medical tricorders on the pushcart and pass it to the Doctor.

The EMH scanned B'Elanna's body, comprehending the readings on the tricorder as he did so. He looked over at Paris and noticed the helmsman wasn't doing anything useful.

"_Mr. Paris!_ Autosuture!" The Doctor looked at Paris as if the helmsman had lost his mind.

"Oh…uh…" Paris couldn't make himself look away from his girlfriend's bleeding form lying lifeless on the biobed. He stared at her as if his gaze alone had the power to heal all her wounds and bring her limp body back to life.

As Paris scrabbled around for an autosuture, he noticed the EMH begin the osteotractor process that would set B'Elanna's broken bones in a type of temporary cast made by small forcefields. As the Doctor finished the process, he glanced at Vorik and yelled to the few medical staff _Voyager _stillhad, "Somebody aid Mr. Vorik!"

"I am quite fine," Vorik said, his calm voice penetrating Tom's whirling thoughts.

"You are covered in blood and burns—you are obviously _not _fine. You are losing a significant amount of blood. Here, take this—a hypercoagulin. This will stop the bleeding. Do not argue with me—it will do no good! You know my program requires me to place full attention on the patient in need of the most help, which means I won't have time to argue with you!" the Doctor yelled as Vorik started to protest.

While this discourse was going on, Paris had found the autosuture and was proceeding to B'Elanna's side. He tried to turn the device on and allow the tool to seal her lacerations, but his hand was shaking too hard for him to control. He was barely able to find the gashes in B'Elanna's bronze skin through all the blood that was draining out of her. Tom knew he had some experience, but he also knew that all the experience in the Delta Quadrant wouldn't allow him to face with a doctor's impartial professionalism what had just happened. _If this were anyone else…_ he thought, stomach turning at the sight.

Paris felt a firm hand grip his shoulder and push him gently out of the way. "Hey…!" he started to protest.

"You are emotionally compromised, Lieutenant. I am much more capable of applying the treatment." Paris didn't know how Vorik managed to look completely calm and in control despite the green blood drying on his face. His eyes seemed to look through Tom, and Paris found himself stepping out of the way, yielding to the Vulcan's logic. Paris knew using an autosuture was easy—anyone could do it, which was why Vorik had spoken up. But today, in this situation, it seemed he was having a hard time with it.

Meanwhile, the Doctor was lost in his own work. He was attentively using an anabolic protoplaser on B'Elanna's wounds to help regenerate the tissues—both internal and external—as well as her burns. The tricorder had stated that Lieutenant Torres had three broken ribs and a broken collarbone, as well as a concussion. He would begin repairs on those bones as soon as her wounds were sealed and her bleeding stopped.

Paris stood to the side, lost in the rhythmic and terrifyingly loud pounding of his heart. He had had no intention of this ever happening. Not so soon after Kes left, at least! _Give me a chance to get used to this again! _he thought imploringly to whomever might be listening. But it had happened, Paris told himself. And B'Elanna needed him.

As Tom Paris listened to his whirling thoughts and watched Vorik and the Doctor seal the worst of B'Elanna's wounds, something coursed through him. B'Elanna's vulnerable state touched a sensitive spot of Paris—a spot that buried his fears deep in his mind and brought a surge of adrenaline rushing through him.

Tom Paris moved back toward B'Elanna's inert form, clenching his jaw as he did so. As Vorik and the EMH finished sealing the worst of the lacerations, Paris grabbed an extra protoplaser and checked the patient's display on the console past the end of the biobed. While he was no doctor, he did have some experience that would allow him to be an asset in this situation. That was why, before Kes had come into the picture and after she had left, he had been the one graced with the job of doctor's assistant.

After memorizing the information, he took a deep breath, released the osteotractor from hugging the fracture, and set to sealing a rib to the best of his abilities. He announced what he was doing to the Doctor, hoping he sounded professional. He was just a nurse, for God's sake! But, being just a nurse in this situation was not good enough for Tom Paris.

Noticing the workspace was too crowded, Vorik finished sealing up the last of B'Elanna's open wounds and silently moved away from the biobed, allowing the EMH and Tom Paris to finish the work with some space.

Paris' knuckles were white as he clutched the protoplaser, his thoughts directed only to B'Elanna. _Don't die, don't die! _he willed her. But he couldn't help but notice the hoarse and shallow breaths she took, her usually flushed and vibrant face turning pale with the loss of blood.

Paris finished sealing the rib and began on B'Elanna's collarbone, determination evident in his tone as he called out his intent to the EMH. He held the protoplaser above the broken bone, stimulating the calcium through her uniform and skin. Adrenaline coursed through him, making everything sharper and clearer. Together, he and Doc were going to save her, if that was the last thing they did.

Tom Paris was on a roll. He was focused, his emotions about B'Elanna's predicament pushed to the side and his medical experience taking over. He was ready to drop his work and assist the Doctor whenever the EMH needed anything, then come back to it. He didn't think about the cramp in his hand or, despite his experience, that he was still too green for this; it was too soon after Kes had left. He knew deep down that thought would shake his confidence and make him lose focus. Right now, all he allowed himself to think about was that they would get through this.

Suddenly, the biobed's console started to beep frantically, jerking Tom out of his focus.

"What does that mean?" Paris asked the Doctor desperately. He grit his teeth in frustration at being so new to this job of Doctor's assistant. _Why couldn't Kes have stayed?_ he thought for the thousandth time.

"She's losing too much blood. We need to do a transfusion." The Doctor replied after glancing at the diagnostic screen, lines of worry creasing his face.

"How are we going to find blood for _her_?" Tom asked, his worry evident through his tone. He knew B'Elanna Torres was special—she needed blood that was extremely rare. Blood that was half Klingon and half human.

"We'll have to use an autologous transfusion," the EMH answered him.

Paris furrowed his brow at the technical answer, trying to remember what it meant, and the Doctor said, "We have her own blood in store."

Paris shook his head to clear it. He had forgotten that the whole crew had been asked to give their own blood for storage just for situations like this. Captain Janeway knew they were the only humans in the Delta Quadrant and that their blood was, therefore, precious.

The Doctor obtained the plasma infusion unit, set the device to use B'Elanna's stored blood for this particular transfusion, and fed the plasma into B'Elanna's lacking system with the ease only a program designed for perfection could attain. Tom Paris watched on in silence, waiting for the horrible beeping of the diagnostic screen to stop and signal B'Elanna's stability. As soon as the beeping ended, Paris realized he had been holding his breath, and he let it out in a whoosh of air. With the action came the relaxing of his heart rate and his tense muscles, and Paris found himself able to think clearer. He had no idea this job would be so difficult. _Way _more difficult than flying the ship, if you asked him.

Tom Paris and the Doctor finished up the job by stimulating the cells in her the remaining broken bones to repair themselves. Once this was finished, all that was left to do was to make sure her systems stayed stable and on the mend.

Tom sighed in relief when it was all over. He allowed himself to reach forward and clasp his shaking hand gently over B'Elanna's. The blood looked so fresh on her torn uniform, but Paris was just glad the gaping gashes that had riddled her body were now patched up and healing. Tom's gaze moved to her beautiful face—a face that was angelic in sleep. He had just seen that face contorted in irritation at the Doctor, and now it was so peaceful. Tom smiled, thinking of how cute she looked when her Klingon side took over. Of course, he would never tell her that, unless he wanted that wrath directed at him.

Tom noticed a small cut on her forehead spanning one of her small ridges. He reached out and touched the mark, willing it to go away. God, when he was with her the light, teasing Tom Paris he thought he knew slipped away. B'Elanna Torres made his guard fall—a guard that counted on joking and laughter to hide the person he was inside. To hide the person who had made some dumb mistakes in his life—one that had imprisoned him and severed the relationship with his father. A person he would keep hidden at all costs, even from his best friend Harry Kim. But, when he was around B'Elanna, he wasn't afraid to be that person.

Despite the fact that whatever had happened wasn't his fault, he silently vowed he would never let anything like this happen to her again. He would go to the end of the galaxy to keep her from harm. This realization only made Paris see how truly and irreversibly in love with her he was.

Tom felt a hand touch his shoulder. "She's stable," he heard the Doctor say gently. Tom nodded, relief flooding him. "And," the EMH continued, "after some bumps, you did much better than I would have expected given the situation. Now I know your potential. I see promise in you, yet." He gave Paris a warm smile. "That is—if you come to sickbay when called," the Doctor added in jest. The EMH had noticed that light teasing and humor oftentimes increased human psychological healing, therefore decreasing the amount of time it took to recover from physical or mental trauma. He had adjusted his program to adapt to the new information and apply the method accordingly.

Tom Paris felt a sense of satisfaction at the hologram's kind words. "Thanks, Doc," he said, his voice hoarse. "Couldn't have done it without you." Even though Paris didn't want to ever live something like that again, he knew his being the new Doctor's assistant was crucial for maintaining a healthy crew, and he knew deep down he would stick to it as long as needed. Though, no one ever said he couldn't complain about it.

The Doctor smiled and walked toward the next patient, pleased that B'Elanna Torres was on the mend and that his new assistant had just proven his worth far beyond what he had expected.


	4. Hidden Corners

**_Chapter 4: Hidden Corners_**

"And so, one moment I was standing by the console in front of the warp core, and the next I was in sickbay," B'Elanna said, finishing recounting her experience to the expectant faces surrounding her in the mess hall. She recalled how she had apologized to the Doctor earlier in the day about her outburst at him, and had fixed his vocal performance program right away as a gesture of thanks. The EMH had insisted that he needed nothing in return for healing a patient, but B'Elanna could tell he was pleased with the restoration of his program—a pleasure anyone who entered sickbay anytime soon would be feeling…or _hearing_…as well.

After B'Elanna had been recovering in sickbay, Captain Janeway had told Tom Paris what had happened in Engineering. _Voyager _had passed an anomaly that had caused a tiny power surge in the matter-anitmatter containment field, one tiny enough not to blow up the ship, but enough to send B'Elanna across the deck. The fact that B'Elanna Torres was still alive and well was considered a miracle even by the very scientifically astute captain. All other personnel who were harmed in the accident were healed and back to work, including Vorik. Captain Janeway had assured Tom and the others that the anomaly had been noted and all precautions were being taken to make sure they didn't let that happen again.

Seven of Nine gazed down at B'Elanna, hardly allowing her chin to lower from its raised position. Her eternal posture of an erect back with hands clasped behind her only enforced B'Elanna's thoughts of Seven being nothing more or less than an automaton. It annoyed her.

"You are looking well, Lieutenant," the liberated Borg stated. B'Elanna was pleasantly surprised by the compliment and the attempt Seven had made to engage in light conversation.

"Thank you, Seven," B'Elanna said, looking up from her seat in the mess hall at the tall blond woman.

"You are welcome," Seven stated matter-of-factly and turned on her heel, leaving the room.

"I guess that's all Seven can manage for one day," B'Elanna muttered, getting a chuckle out of Tom and some others.

Neelix bustled over, something in his hands steaming.

"Oh, Neelix, you didn't have to make me anything!" B'Elanna said, dreading the feast he had no doubt prepared. While she had the tendency to be snippy, B'Elanna never _liked _making someone feel bad, unless they deserved it. Neelix didn't deserve it, but he _did _tend to get on her nerves sometimes, and when B'Elanna was irritated she knew it didn't take her long to say something snippy.

But, she respected Neelix more since he had offered to be a punching bag for her, and for that, she unfolded her arms and tried to look interested.

"Well, I made you something anyway. Soup always makes me feel better when I'm sick or recovering!" With a flourish, Neelix presented his concoction. It was a clear blue color, and made B'Elanna think of ancient Earth mouthwash. There were some orange bits that resembled carrots floating around, as well as green bits. B'Elanna didn't think she could stomach mouthwash with carrots and peas in it. Give her Klingon Blood Pie any day next to this.

"Um, Neelix, that's very nice of you, but really—" B'Elanna tried to push the bowl away.

To her surprise, Tom was the one to protest. "No, B'Elanna, come on," he said, a cocky expression on his face, as well as a knowing smile. "Give it a try at least!"

Neelix beamed at the encouragement, oblivious to Tom's true intent in his words. He punched the air with his fist, repeating, "Give it a try!" as he did so.

B'Elanna glared at Tom, but succumbed to peer pressure. She picked up the spoon and sniffed the soup hesitantly. Then, glaring one last time at her traitor boyfriend, she dipped the spoon into the blue liquid and lifted it to her mouth.

An explosion of flavor spread across B'Elanna's tongue. At first, she didn't know what to think at the strong reaction. Then, she smiled. "This is better than I expected!" she said after swallowing the mouthful. She dipped the spoon in for another taste.

"I'm glad you like it!" Neelix looked like he was on Cloud Nine. "It's made of—"

But, before Neelix could continue, B'Elanna held up a hand. "I _don't _want to know," she said, knowing that if the secrets of the dish were revealed to her, she would probably never want to eat again.

In the meantime, Tom Paris was shocked at his girlfriend's reaction. He had been hoping to see how she handled herself when she tasted one of Neelix's notoriously _too _alien dishes, but his hopes had been squashed. He couldn't believe B'Elanna was enjoying it, and thought for a second maybe she was just pretending for his sake.

"Get me a spoon!" he ordered affably to Harry Kim, who was one of the crewmembers gathered around the table. Harry just laughed, punched Tom lightly on the arm in mock anger at the command, and got up to receive the utensil from the kitchen.

When Harry returned a moment later, he held out the spoon to Tom. "Say 'please'," he taunted.

"Please!" Tom said, undaunted. "It's about time!" Paris was in a better mood than he had been in a long time, seeing B'Elanna back in one piece and knowing the ship was trying to find someplace nice along the way to get some shore leave. Maybe he could finally be able to try some of that strong liquor that was seemingly so popular. Of course, Tom thought, peering at B'Elanna's radiant face, he wasn't much of a drinker, so maybe he would just spend that time with B'Elanna…

Tom dipped the spoon into the bowl and boldly tasted the seemingly delicious soup. Then he coughed, spluttering all over the table. "That's horrible!" he said, making Harry laugh harder, Neelix's face fall, and B'Elanna stare at him quizzically.

"Are you kidding? It's delicious!" B'Elanna protested.

"Well, at least _somebody _likes my cooking," Neelix muttered before stalking off.

Once B'Elanna had finished the soup, most of the interested crewmembers had wandered away, leaving Tom, B'Elanna, and Harry. Harry glanced at the two, knowing when it was his time to go. He stood up. "I've got a report to write," he said, and excused himself.

Tom and B'Elanna were left staring at each other. "What?" B'Elanna asked him, a smile in her tone and on her lips.

"I was just thinking maybe I should lead you back to your quarters so you can get some rest," Tom replied, smiling back at her.

"Sounds like a plan," the half-Klingon woman answered, rising from her chair. Tom and B'Elanna walked out of the mess hall together and into the corridor.

Only halfway to her quarters they had found a nook along the way to hide in, and were locked in a passionate kiss.

B'Elanna pulled away after a moment, heart racing. "I thought the captain told us not to be affectionate in public," she said, gazing into his comforting eyes. She had heard from others that Tom had been there with her the whole time, gallantly pulling her through in her most critical moments.

"No one can see us," Tom said, a small smile showing on his mouth as his thumb caressed her arm comfortingly. He made sure to be gentle with her; he knew B'Elanna's wounds were still tender.

"That's what we thought before," B'Elanna said, groaning at the embarrassing memory. "The whole time we thought we were being sneaky."

"Well, we'll just have to try harder this time," was Tom's response, noticing the mark that had crossed one of her ridges had completely disappeared due to a dermal regenerator.

B'Elanna laughed and kissed him lightly. "I heard you were there for me, Tom."

"Well, it wasn't just me," he said, modestly pushing the compliment to the side. This mature side of Tom only made B'Elanna love him more, and she let out a short laugh and pressed her lips against his with vigor. She was really starting to love this kid, and was becoming convinced that his love alone would heal all her wounds.

Right as the kiss was getting passionate again, a muffled sound came from B'Elanna's combadge. A voice spoke, and she pulled her body away from Tom's chest to hear it better.

"Doctor to Torres: you're due in sickbay for your twenty-four hour checkup."

"Damn! Already?" B'Elanna muttered only loud enough for Tom's looming form to hear. "I feel like I _just _got out!"

"That's how we all feel," Paris responded, suddenly remembering he was late again for duty as Doctor's assistant. "Didn't he sneak up on us during our first kiss, too?" Tom pondered aloud. Déjà vu.

"Lieutenant?" came the Doctor's voice, waiting for a response.

B'Elanna begrudgingly tapped her combadge. "I'm on my way," she replied.

Tom laughed at B'Elanna's stormy expression.

"What are you laughing at?" she asked her boyfriend, glaring at him.

"Nothing," he responded, unwilling to feel his girlfriend's Klingon fury, but unable to hide his amusement.

The Doctor's voice sounded again from B'Elanna's combadge just as she was about to tell Tom what she thought about his laughter.

"Oh, and bring your beau. He's late for duty again."

Tom suddenly wasn't laughing anymore.

* * *

_I really hoped you enjoyed my story! Thank you so much for reading, and if you liked this story you would probably like my other _Star Trek _stories too, so check out my profile! __**PLEASE REVIEW! **__Thank you! :)_


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